


Oil and Water

by Bethann, Minniemoggie



Series: Legendary Friendship [33]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cross-cultural, Cultural Differences, Family Drama, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Humor, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Racism, Sea Longing, Spanking, Traditions, Yule, mild spanking non sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie
Summary: A winter storm means dwarves and elves must squeeze together into Ithilien's crowded hall for the Yule season.





	1. Legolas pov

**Author's Note:**

> This tales follows after "Trouble Brewing." Gimli had permanently moved to Ithilien to help care for Legolas as he deals with the sea longing,and Gimli's nephew,Greirr has taken over as Lord of the Glittering Caves. At this point in the story, Legolas is still doing fairly well and isn't yet constantly plagued by the sea longing, though eh has lost some ground. For this story to make sense, you have to accept our A/U idea that elves come of age at 1,000 years, and Gimli has been assigned as Legolas guardian since he is still under age. it will help if you at least read the notes for this series. It will help even more if you've read at least the stories beginning with "The Aqueduct" to give you more background about the original characters

Oil and Water for the Winter Woes Prompt

Beth & Minnie

“Lord Legolas I think you had better come.” 

I look up from my work. The voice is easily recognisable but the tone, which is urgent, is not. Captain Saelind is usually unflappable; it is only recently that things have changed. If elves could change hair colour I suspect his might have turned white!

I do not have to guess as to the cause however. Over the last few days, it has become quite a common phenomenon. Who would have thought things would turn out as they have? I certainly did not. It was my intention to do something kind, something that would bring us all pleasure and enjoyment during the Turning of the Year festivities, but somehow all has gone awry.

How that could have happened I do not know, for it all started out so well.

A few months ago, we had an invitation to go to Minas Tirith for the Mettarë celebrations. This in itself was not so surprising. Over the years we have been to the White City many times at the turning of the year but this time the new lord of the Glittering Caves had also been invited and Gimli, on hearing this, was determined that he at least would not attend. I was surprised initially but once I heard his reasons I fully endorsed his choice.

“Eh Lamb,” he told me his face one of mingled pride and grief, “Greirr is the Lord of Aglarond now, and my presence could make things uncomfortable for him and Dravalia with the lords in Gondor. There are always them that will say that things are not as they were or are watching for Greirr to make choices that might run counter to mine. Of course I wish them both well, and know that Greirr is more than capable of holding his own in negotiations and in court business, but he will manage it better if the old Lord is not there to be turned to or to be asked to give advice that he does not need. I will look forward to seeing them both and Galinn and their new son, but not in some public place such as the Merethrond. Next spring will be time enough for me. Mind that is no reason why you should not go.”

Of course, I refused to go alone, I would be equally happy to see my dwarven brother, Galinn and my new nephew but I would not go without Gimli.

While I agreed with him that it would perhaps not be wise to attend Minas Tirith I felt sorry for my guardian and set about trying to come up with some scheme that might make our own festivities here in Ithilien en-Edhil more enjoyable for him. He has sacrificed so much that it seemed unfair that he should not get to see his family when they were so close by. 

This was made easier when I heard from Gimli’s sister Dorbryn and her husband who told me that they too had been invited to Minas Tirith and wondered if they might spend some time in Ithilien en-Edhil as well. “For well do I know that my brother will not wish to crowd out Greirr on his first visit to Gondor as Lord of Erebor so we will not see him otherwise” Dorbryn wrote.

I immediately wrote back to Dorbryn telling her we would be happy to see her, and asking her to say nothing to Gimli. She was happy to agree to keep quiet about it so that he might be surprised by their arrival. It was agreed between us that they would travel south with Greirr and Dravalia and then I would send an escort to Minas Tirith to bring Dorbryn and Thorûr here. I was in alt over the whole thing. I could hardly wait for the news that the dwarves of Aglarond had gained the White City so that I might surprise my Gimli.

The first part of this plan worked incredibly well, and Gimli was surprised and delighted when the dwarven cavalcade arrived and the reunion between brother and sister was lovely to see and we had several days of pleasant discourse together. Only one thing threatened our enjoyment and that was the weather.

Ithilien usually has mild winters, but occasionally they are hit by severe storms that bring biting cold and heavy snow. The snow does not last long at worst a few days or weeks if it is particularly bad but it makes travel difficult and the roads north or to the west into Gondor become impassable. Those of my kin who know weather lore had been growing concerned over what they thought might be a powerful winter storm blowing in and Gimli and I decided that although it would mean cutting short their visit we ought to escort Dorbryn, Thorûr and their party back to Minas Tirith where they might escape the worst of the weather. 

All was in train for this to happen when the scouts reported seeing a group of travellers approaching our border. They were soon identified as dwarves, a large party, made up of riders, guards and pony and goat carts. 

It seemed that Dravalia had felt uncomfortable in the White City, and that she was worried about the health of her new baby and so Greirr had given into her pleadings to be brought to Ithilien en-Edhil to be with her mother by marriage. 

Happy as we were to see them, well most of them for I was dismayed to see that beside Magen, Thorûr’s father a dwarf who had never quite accustomed himself to my addition to the family, the party was accompanied by a healer Mistress Lilja someone who I have had far too many run ins with in the past. 

Still initially, things went well. Dorbryn, Dravalia, her new baby and Mistress Lilja shared the guest quarters. Greirr, Magen, Thorûr and Galinn moved into Gimli’s rooms while Gimli came to join me. Saelind and Galathil agreed to share their quarters, which meant that Captain Vestri, Greirr’s captain had somewhere to sleep and work. The other dwarven warriors we put in the cleaned out grain store where our own warriors slept during the winter months. The additional animals were bedded down with our own beasts. The situation was not ideal but with the threat of the storm our priority was to get everyone into some kind of shelter and it was as well that we did for the storm turned out to be one of the worst we have encountered here in Ithilien en-Edhil.

The wind began to blow not long after our unexpected visitors arrived and so there was a flurry of activity to ensure that all that we might need was on hand. Thanks to Gimli we have water pumped straight into the main hall so that was something we did not have to concern ourselves about. There was also sufficient food and fodder put by for the winter months; we even had some ale that Gimli and Galathil had been brewing for the Solstice celebrations. There was plenty of wood stacked and dry to keep the fires and braziers burning and oil to light the lamps. Given the likely severity of the storm, all of my own folk had come into the main buildings so it was something of a squeeze but better that than have someone perish in the cold. The sentries were called in from their posts, doors barred and windows shuttered.

Gimli and I watched the approaching clouds; the wind was causing them to race across the darkening skies like the Mearas on the plains of Rohan. They were grey and heavy with snow. The wind has been gradually increasing in ferocity making the trees bend and whipping the branches back and forth. 

“This looks as if it will be a bad one” Gimli opined.

I could not disagree and was only thankful that Greirr’s company had reached us in time. Had they been caught in the open their situation would have been perilous.

I give an involuntary shudder and immediately Gimli is fussing around me insisting I wrap my cloak more tightly about me. I try telling him that it is not the cold that made me shiver but I do not think I convince him although I am telling the truth for once.

Instead, I turn his attention by commenting that I am glad to be within the thick walls of the hall he built for us, “I had not realized how much extreme weather I missed when I lived in Eryn Galinn because we were snug in the caves, I suppose it was similar for you in Erebor.”

“ True enough lad, there is much to be said for living beneath the earth but good solid stone,” here he slaps the wall, “Will do the job just as well. We are safe enough here, it will take more than a few puffs of wind to bring this down, when a dwarf builds he builds properly.”

“And I am grateful for it, and for you insisting on building this hall, we would not be half as comfortable as we are without it. We may be a little cramped in the next few days but at least we are secure.”

I turn to look at the door as Thorûr and Greirr come to join us, both well wrapped in thick cloaks and furs.

“I had no idea the weather here could be so cold” Greirr commented.

“It is not often so, but when winter comes here she comes with a vengeance. I am surprised no one in the White City warned you that a storm was coming on.” Gimli replied.

Greirr looks a little self-conscious about this. 

“They did, but Dravalia was determined to come to Mam. She was worried about little Kildin and missed having another female to talk to. The king’s household did their best but at times like this, she needed her own kin. I am glad we reached you when we did.”

“Aye so are we.” 

The wind picks up suddenly and begins to howl, bout the corner of the hall. Gimli closes and bars the last shutter cutting off our view of the storm but not before I catch a glimpse of the first snowflakes beginning to tumble and fly. I suspect by morning we will be snowed in completely. 

Inevitably, the additional number of dwarves and animals, the worsening weather have led to tensions between my folk and our visitors. It was bound to be the case given the two disparate groups being confined in cramped surroundings with rapidly deteriorating weather. This is why I should have expected Saelind’s call to me, now. 

Sighing I push away from the desk and follow my captain out into the swirling snow.  
“What has happened?” I ask as we hurry across the clearing towards the stables.

Saelind answers with one of his own “How much do you know about goats?”

“They are stubborn, fierce and obstreperous.”

“Rather like their owners then who are insisting that the quarters we have allocated are unsuitable due to the goats being too closely stabled to the horses. Apparently it is putting some of them off their fodder.”

I cannot see what the problem is here, for it seems obvious to me and so I say. “Then the simple answer is to move them.”

“Yes and so I thought too, but unfortunately we are struggling for space for the animals just as we are for our other unexpected guests I …”

He does not have to say more for as we approach the stable door I hear the sound of very angry voices. One I recognise immediately, my stable master Silvyr. He is an ellon of very decided opinions and it seems that he is expounding some of them at the top of his voice. He is answered in like manner by another voice and my heart sinks. Magen! It would have to be him of course.

“Dinna be so daft, man.”

“I am no man”

“True enough ye are not, for a man for all his failings wouldn’a speak so foolishly about a subject he knows nothing about.”

“I have lived for over two thousand years, dwarf, and I know my craft well enough, you now …”

Saelind and I sigh as we push open the doors to see Silvyr and Magen toe to toe.

“Is there something amiss here?”

Two faces both darkened by anger turn to me, and speak out at once.

“This dwarven fool …”

“Yon pointy ear …”

I hold my hands up and they fall silent. 

“Master Magen I take it that you find the accommodations of your goats not to your liking.”

“Aye ye may say so. They dinna like being with these long legged beasties of yours and this fool willn’a make a push to find them somewhere more suitable.”

“Where would you have me put them?” Silvyr snaps at him then turns to me to try to explain himself. “I have tried to tell him my lord, that we are doing our best in what is a very difficult situation.” 

I look about me searching for some compromise, but can see no obvious solution. Every stall is in use, some of our horses are even doubling up which makes it difficult for both them and those charged with their care. The goats have been put in a pen near the door and bales of straw have been used to make a more solid barrier than the usual stalls have.  
“I am sorry Master Magen” I begin in as a conciliatory voice as I can, “but I have to agree with Master Silvyr …” I get no further for Magen throws up his hands and growls. 

“Of course ye do! What else could I expect from an elf.”

My good intentions of keeping calm going glimmering in the face of his antagonism. 

“You forget you are here as my guest Master Magen, albeit at the present an unwelcome one.”

Magen’s face goes from red to deep purple, his fists clench. Saelind puts a hand on his sword, in response to the perceived threat to my person.

“If it was not for ye, Lord Gimli would yet be Lord of Aglarond” Magen snarls at me. “And we dwarves would have no need to leave our halls to talk with men and associate with the likes of ye.”

That accusation stings because it is true enough and my guilt makes me want to score a point or two off Magen who has never liked me or approved of my being accepted into dwarven society and I have the perfect weapon to do it too.

“If you had heeded the advice given to you in Minas Tirith, we would not now be standing in the cold discussing goats! It is not my fault you find yourself in this situation but yours.”

Master Magen, glares at me for a moment or two then pushes past us out into the snow.  
I watch him go, regret mingling with satisfaction for having discomforted him.

I know I should not have said what I did, for Gimli warned me only yesterday to say nothing more over whose decision it was to ignore the warnings over the weather proclaiming that men did not know what they were talking about when it came to predicting weather. Greirr had told his uncle and me in strictest confidence about it when Gimli took him to task over his choice.

“He was so certain Uncle Gimli, and Dravalia wanted to be with Mam so I allowed myself to be persuaded. I should not have done so.”

“Well lad, no harm done thank Mahal,” Gimli responded, “ but best if we keep such information between ourselves. We all know how prickly Magen can be and he is like to be in a bad enough temper being trapped here and by his own decision mark you, that he will be fit to burst a blood vessel.”

We had all laughed at that, but I was not laughing now, knowing that Magen would very likely take his complaints to Gimli or at the very least look to cause more mischief between our folk.

“Do what you can Silvy,r” I advise my stable master, as Saelind and I make for the doors. “I know the situation is difficult, and Master Magen is not most amenable of dwarves but if there is any solution you could come up with to help I would be grateful.”

“I will see what I can do Lord Legolas” 

“Master Magen should not have said what he did,” Saelind says

“No” I give him a rueful grimace, “And nor should I.”


	2. Gimli's POV

I close the door to the armoury forge and lean my full weight against the heavy door, hoping against hope that no one has seen me enter, for I feel I simply cannot tolerate another complaint or settle another argument without going completely mad! Of course it is not surprising that folks are on edge considering that we are crowded enough here when the weather turns off so foul, even without added guests. Just the elves who live here normally, do not care for being confined together in close quarters. These folk are used to spending most of their time in flets in all but the worst weather, so to have to be under roof in crowded conditions can be trying in the best of times, but it is complicated by a thousand fold when you add in a few dozens agitated dwarves who are used to spending Yule in enormous, spacious caverns, well protected from even the bitterest of winter storms. 

I know I should be grateful, for it was a very close call for my dear nephew and his entourage. Had they left Minas Tirith mere hours later than they did, they would now very likely be lost in the worst blizzard I have seen since coming south over one hundred years ago. It was very foolish of Greirr not to heed the advise of those men of the White City who are educated in weather lore, for not only was he traveling with a child and a newborn babe, but also with Master Magen and Mistress Lilja, who are both already well beyond the normal life expectancy for a dwarf. Of course dwarves normally remain hale and strong until the very end of life, but still it was an unwise risk, something I did not hesitate to tell him when he arrived. 

From a somewhat wayward youth, Greirr has become a very sensible, steady dwarf and a fine leader of our people, but he has always had one weakness in that he can never deny Dravalia anything she asks for. Females are highly honored among our folk, and even after so many years of marriage, Greirr is still a lovesick fool over his wife, but in this case he should have stood his ground for the safety of his family. But then the lad had not only his homesick wife begging him to leave, but also the one who is, for all intents and purposes his beloved grandfather telling him it was safe to do so. Master Magen may be a crotchety old dwarf, but he is also very convincing, so between his insistence and Dravalia’s wiles, it is no wonder Greirr was swayed to make for home. 

Whatever the case, it pays no toll repining over what should have been or what might have been. We must deal headlong with the situation we are in currently, and yet I find myself hiding here in the relative safety of the forge just so I can gather my thoughts without being called upon to settle a disagreement. It has been a trying couple of days to say the least. 

At first things looked as if they were going well enough. The elves here are not unfamiliar with my kin, having worked with many of them on and off for years. We have been together for celebrations and holidays in the past, both here and in Aglarond, and of course Captain Galathil and Captain Saelind have been with us on many occasions when one or the other of them has escorted Legolas to the Glittering Caves when he needed time to recover from some of the worst episodes of the sea longing, the latest one being against his will, and the one that made me realize I needed to retire my role as Lord to come to Ithilien full time. So originally it looked like all would be well in spite of the crowded conditions, for it was like a reunion of old friends. The elves were welcoming, and the dwarves were grateful for the welcome and happy to be safe from the storm. 

It didn’t take long, however, for little signs of discord to spring up. It began with Master Dimethor, our record keeper here in Ithilien, complaining rather loudly that he could not hear himself think with little Kildin, who is suffering from a slight cold, squalling non-stop. Captain Saelind, who heard everything, apologized profusely to Dravalia, but even so, she was so mortified that she has since refused to come out of her rooms with the fussy infant in spite of our best efforts to persuade her to do so. This means that Dorbryn has been mostly holed up with her as well, for she would not leave her daughter in law to deal with the babe alone, which in turn makes for a less pleasant stay for Thorûr and Greirr. It also meant that young Galinn was left to his own devices while Greirr was in conference with Captain Vestri. Well actually Legolas offered to keep Galinn with him, for he has a soft s pot for Greirr’s son, but he evidently did not feel it necessary to attempt to temper Galinn’s rambunctious play, which resulted in Galinn upsetting an enormous tray of raspberry trifles and causing them to crash to the floor just as they were being brought out for evening meal. 

That meant that not only did four of the wait staff, plus Galinn end up covered in glass and sticky pink custard, but that dinner had to be postponed while the mess was cleaned up. Worst of all, our head cook, Master Mais was humiliated by having to serve ordinary poached pears with apricot preserves for dessert in front of guests! 

Besides that poor Galinn was firmly reprimanded by his father, and has been tethered to his side ever since even though Legolas has pleaded with Greirr that it was his own fault for not watching the child better. I can hardly blame Greirr for this choice considering how crowded we are, but I cannot help agreeing with Legolas that it is hardly fair to the child, who was only behaving as lads do when they are cooped up. I tried pointing out to Greirr that he was no model of perfect decorum as a boy himself, but he countered by reminding me that his elders, including me, were also quick to disapprove of his mischievous antics, and that the lad was in training to become the third Lord of Aglarond and needed to begin behaving in a way that was fitting for his station, especially as a guest in someone else’s home. I could hardly disagree, but I also could not help winking at my grand nephew and promising to take him out to see the sledging paths once the snow has stopped falling. Greirr may be Lord of Aglarond now and Galinn’s father, but he needn’t think he can pull rank on me in all things! For now, though, poor Galinn will just have to suffer with the rest of us, for being cramped together has become quite a trial.

By the end of yesterday I had been called upon to settle multiple quarrels and minor issues, but this morning things went from bad to worse, beginning with a falling out between our local head healer, Master Handir and Aglarond’s now retired head healer Mistress Lilja. It began with a disagreement about how to best treat an infant with a cough.

“A mustard plaster and a good steam with fir needle oil,” was Master Handir’s suggestion, but Mistress Lilja only rolled her eyes and snorted at this prescription.

“It is only a little cold, not a Diptheric croup!” she scoffed. “All the child needs is a little elderberry syrup and all will be well.”

“Indeed!” Master Handir retorted. “That is if you wish the cough to turn in to a true croup. Elderberry syrup does nothing but coat the throat with sugar. If one wishes to nip things in the bud it is best to be proactive with the treatment! Eucalyptus salve for an older child, and fir needle oil in steaming water for an infant. It is the only way unless you wish things to get worse! ”

“Hmmph! And with your method the poor babe will fuss so much from the heat of the mustard and the steam that he’ll hack more than he is already just from the throat irritation of crying! Elderberry syrup will sooth his cough enough to help him sleep through the night, which is likely all that is needed. And what does an elf know about treating a common cold anyway? Are not your folk immune to illness?”

“Adult elves do not generally catch colds or chills, it is true, but it is certainly common enough among elven youngsters and infants, so of course I am familiar with how to treat them!”  
For all the disparity in appearance between tall, lean Master Handir with his shining chestnut tresses tied neatly in the braid that identifies him as a healer and old, shrunken and wrinkled Mistress Lilja with her knee length white dreadlocks sticking out randomly, the two faces looked remarkably alike! Both carried an expression of complete superiority and righteous outrage. Mistress Lilja’s response was more than a little sarcastic.

“Tell me, Master Elf, when exactly was the last time ye treated an infant of any race hmm? It is my understanding that your young Lord is the youngest elf left on Arda by a thousand years or more, and I happen to know that he in nearly nine hundred years old! He may not yet be an adult by he mores of your folk, but he is certainly far from infancy! Besides, little Kilden here, is no elf, and if ye think ye know more about treating dwarflings than I do, ye have another think coming, I’ll tell ye now!”

“Just because it has been some years since I have treated any young elflings, does not mean I have forgotten how!” Handir was sputtering with indignation by then. “Perhaps you do not know that elves have perfect recall. I have also been called upon to help treat the humans at Emyn Arnen when they were beset by an ague epidemic not two winters ago, and there were many children among those affected, I’ll have you know!”

“Well, dear Sir, perhaps I need to remind you that dwarves are not humans, and a case of the sniffles is not an ague! But then I suppose I should expect such from the likes of you!”

Though she stands a full eighteen inches shorter than her nemesis, Mistress Lilja still somehow managed to look down her nose at the elven healer, who now stood gaping at her, evidently struck speechless, something I had never seen before. Mistress Lilja must have taken this as a sign that he wished her to explain herself further, or perhaps she felt it was her duty to do so. 

“I am certain you are a fine healer, Master Handir, but it seems to me that you do not always know how to tailor your treatment to an individual patient’s needs. For instance you should not be encouraging your Lord to drink milk with meals, but should promote either ginger or peppermint tea.” 

“Tea! How preposterous! Lord Legolas is still severely underweight and tea only fills space without any food value at all. Drinking milk regularly will promote weight gain, which is what he needs to ward off the worst effects of the sea longing.”

“In most cases I would agree with you,” Mistress Lilja smugly retorted, “but the lad does not care much for milk since it tends to make him nauseous at times, something that certainly won’t increase his enthusiasm for eating. Ginger and peppermint stimulate the appetite and settle an upset stomach, both of which promote the desire for food, which is just what is needed in this case.”

I could see that Mistress Lilja felt she had won this particular battle for she smiled triumphantly as Master Handir looked momentarily flustered at her reasoning, but he soon rallied, spitting back her earlier words that he was more experienced in treating his own kind.

“What does a dwarf know about elven physiognomy and treatment of the sea longing?” It was Handir’s turn to sound sarcastic. “I hadn’t realized it was a problem of your kind!”

“That it is not, but recall ye that I have been treating Lord Gimli’s elven charge for many years for episodes of the sea longing and was trained in how to deal with it by King Elessar himself, who was in turn trained by the best known healer in Middle Earth, Lord Elrond! In fact, I believe it was when your Lord was at his worst that he was sent to Aglarond to recover!”

“To receive succor from Lord Gimli and to get away from the sea sounds deep within the caverns, not because he needed any treatment from you!”

“Of course you are right,” Mistress Lilja conceded, though she smiled condescendingly as if it were beneath her to argue the point, but that they both knew the truth of the matter.

By then, Master Handir had turned an unbecoming shade of purple and I feared that the vein that was pulsating in his forehead might rupture. I hurried to intervene.

“Now, now,” I placated, “I know that both of ye are excellent healers in your own rite, and I am certain ye both have valid points of view, but maybe there is no need to decide right now which treatments are best, considering that neither Dravalila nor Dorbryn have felt the need to call for a healer and they seem to be handling the babe well enough on their own. As far as Legolas is concerned, perhaps letting him make his own choices would be the best course of action hmm? Especially since he appears to be doing well at the moment and his appetite seems quite improved. 

All this speech did was earn me a cool look from both parties, but it worked in its intent to end the argument. Master Handir and Mistress Lilja stalked off in opposite directions, no doubt both even further convinced of their own superiority, but at least the fight was ended before it came to blows! 

I had barely turned around from this encounter, when I was accosted by an incandescent Master Magen, who evidently was most unhappy with our stable master and his treatment of the twenty Angora goats that were a special gift to Greirr from the King of Gondor himself! 

“Those skittish Elven horses startle the poor things, so that they are too upset to take even a mouthful of food! At this rate, they’re likely to starve to death before this snowstorm ends, and that fool doesn’t give a damn! Probably hopes they do!”

I could understand Master Magen’s distress, for Angora goats produce beautiful fiber, and would make a wonderful addition to Aglarond’s stock. It would be a shame for something to happen to such a Kingly gift, and yet it isn’t as if there are a lot of options on where to house them. 

“Master Sylvir may come across as severe on occasion, but I assure ye that he cares a great deal about beasts of all kinds and will do all he can to make sure they are well cared for,” I soothed, knowing that was the truth. Master Sylvir would not endanger innocent animals no matter how scathing old Magen was to him. But evidently the elderly dwarf was not convinced at all, for his face turned red with rage.

“Not bloody likely!” He bellowed, “Not when that pointy eared brat of yours backed him up against me when I suggested they needed moving! What inspired ye to forsake your own home for that mouthy little horror is beyond me! ”

Though I had promised myself at the start that I wouldn’t let acerbic Master Magen get my back up as he often does, I couldn’t help bristling at that unfair description of my lad.

“Master Magen, that ‘mouthy little horror’ as ye call him, happens to be as dear to me as your own son is to you, so I will thank ye to be more circumspect in your words,” I cautioned him. “ Besides that he is your host and has graciously offered ye shelter against the storm, and I know that Legolas, like the rest of us, only wants what is best for everyone including your prized goats.”

An emphatic, “Hmmph!” was his only response, and he went off grumbling about bleeding hearts who care more for outworlders than for their own folk, but he said it so low this time that I could at least pretend not to hear it.

I was almost halfway to the forge, when my irritation at Master Magen finally calmed enough for me to wonder exactly what Legolas had said to earn the description of “mouthy,” and I cringed imagining it, for well do I know that Master Magen has the ability to try anyone’s patience, and my particular elfling is not well known for his serenity. A piece of that puzzle was answered when I saw Captain Saelind emerging from the guardhouse. 

“Lord Gimli!” he called as he hurried to catch up with me. 

“Is anything amiss Captain?” I asked as soon as I saw the harried expression on his face.

“It might be easier to describe what isn’t amiss at this point,” he ruefully replied. “Captain Vestri and I have been attempting to soothe ruffled feathers between the guards, for it seems some of the dwarven guards have gained possession of a couple of ancient elven knives in a dice game. They are very disgruntled with their Captain, for he insisted they return the weapons since he says it is poor manners to take such prizes from folks who are kindly sharing their quarters with them, even if they were won fair and square. I’ve forbidden my elves anymore gambling as well, for I can only see it leading to more trouble, and now they are unhappy with me since they will have no opportunity for payback, and I am worried that without the gambling that has been entertaining them, they’ll only get bored and even more agitated!”

“It is a dilemma,” I agree. “It seems we need to provide some sort of entertainment does it not?”

“Aye, I suppose so,” he agreed. “But my main reason for calling to you was because I wished to talk to you about Master Magen. He said some very hurtful things to Prince Legolas that I fear might have a bad effect, and I felt you should know about it.”

I braced myself, for I knew from personal experience how caustic Master Magen can be when he puts his mind to it, and I already knew he was in a quite a mood from his encounter with Sylvir. I did not have to ask Saelind to explain further, for he continued his tale.

“Basically he blamed our Prince for taking you away from your own folk and said that were it not for him there would have been no need for your kin to be out and about to begin with!” Saelind explained. “ You know that is a sensitive point with our young lord, and it is not good for him to fret over such things.”

“Aye, I know it,” I sighed, “I will speak with him.”

After that I was finally able to make it to the forge where I thought to try to get a few minutes to work on the Yule gift I have in mind for my lad. I move out a few sheets of metal and bring out from behind them a dwarven war axe, though this one has a longer, narrower handle and a smaller head than is usual, for I designed it with Legolas’ taller, lighter frame in mind. He has made it plain to me that as the adopted son of a dwarf lord, he honestly wishes to learn to fight with an axe, even though it is unlikely that he will ever need to, but who am I to say him nay? It is a skill that has always been passed down from father to son, so it was a real oversight on my part to dismiss the idea for so long, but I plan to remedy this error now. It would be an insult to our relationship to refuse to do so, but in this case a special weapon was needed because of the disparity in the size and shape of an elven warrior and a dwarven warrior. Still I think this one I have created will do very well for its intended purpose, and I can hardly wait to give it to him on Yule morning. 

My plan today is to begin carving designs into the handle before I hone and sharpen the double-sided blade. I have just stirred the fire into a blaze and put on my leather apron and eye protection to get started, when the forge door opens, bringing in a gust of bitter wind, followed by a snow covered figure who shakes great mounds of snow out of his hair before he notices me standing there. Fortunately this gives me time to throw the axe behind a bin of nail blanks.

“Elvellon! What are you doing here?”

“I could ask ye the same, Lamb,” I reply, “In all the years ye’ve been here I’ve never known ye to voluntarily come to the forge!”

“It was the only place I could think to go that I could get away from all the bickering and fighting,” he ruefully admits. “I first thought to flee into the woods, but I didn’t think you would approve considering the cold weather.”

“I most certainly would not!” I agree, “Not only is it far too cold for ye to be outside, but in these conditions we might never find ye again!”

“Right now that doesn’t sound like a bad option,” he grumbles. “Couldn’t we just stay in here until after Yule?”

“If only that were an option lamb,, but it hardly becomes either of us to hide out like cowards indefinitely,” I laugh. “but well done on thinking things through for once and at least fleeing to where it is warm!”

He attempts a smile that comes out more like a grimace.

“If only I had done so earlier today with Master Magen…”

“Aye, I heard there was some sort of falling out between ye. What happened laddie?”

He proceeds to tell me the whole story of the goats, Master Magen’s fight with Master Silvyr and the bitter words that were exchanged between him and Magen.

“Oh lamb, you didn’t? Not after I warned you only yesterday to keep it to yourself! I swear elfling, ye are going to have to learn to hold your temper one of these days, and think before you speak!”  
“I am afraid I did, Gimli, though I regretted it immediately…or almost anyway.”

I am unsure if he means he regretted it almost immediately, or if he means he almost regretted it, but either way suddenly Magen’s words make more sense. Without thinking I repeat the words half under my breath.

“Mouthy brat…”

But even though the words are spoken softly I can see right off that Legolas has heard me for he flushes up at this and looks at the floor, though when he peeks up at me, I can see he is hurt.

“I said I am sorry, Gimli, but you have no idea how difficult he is!”

“My words were not meant for you, lamb. I was only repeating some nonsense I heard earlier, but if you think I have no idea about how difficult Master Magen is, then explain why I almost lost my rag with him not half an hour ago?” I challenge him and his eyes go wide in surprise.

“You?”

“Aye, he is an ornery old cuss, and impossible to please,” I explain, “and I have been told the unkind things he said about you, none of which are true. You know that do you not?”

I glare at my charge, for we went over this topic many times before even leaving Aglarond. Still he only shrugs.

“Legolas, I swear I’ll heat your rear end for you if we have to have this discussion again! I came here because it was time and because I wanted to. Neither you, nor Master Magen had any say in the matter, and Old Magen was pleased as punch at the time, since we never got on all that well anyway, and it meant his grandson was to become Lord. The old devil only wanted to get under your skin with his ridiculous accusations, and I can see by your expression that his plan worked! But if you spend one more second worrying over it, you’ll bitterly regret it in about three more seconds.” 

For a moment he looks fairly alarmed, but then chuckles no doubt in relief, for my threat of a trip over my knee if he continues to worry implies that he is not in too much bother for telling Master Magen off in the first place against my strict orders to keep quiet regarding the sensitive subject of it being Magen’s advice that had gotten Greirr and company in so much trouble. 

“I’m not worrying, Elvellon, I swear!” he smiles brightly as proof, but he needn’t feel he is completely off the hook, for I have more to say.

“Mind me now, his poor manners, do not excuse yours, and I had better not hear of any more ‘welcome’ speeches of this sort!”

“You will not, I promise,” he solemnly tells me, “but what are we going to do? At the rate the snow is falling, our guests will be with us at least through Yule and this is only the second day!”

Aye, and that is the issue! How will we make it through the busy days of Yule with so many extra guests and so many different personalities and opinions, and in very close quarters besides. 

“We need something for them to do,” I suggest. “Everyone needs their restless energy channeled into something else besides grumping and bickering.”

“An entertainment, perhaps?” Legolas offers.

“Aye, lamb, that’s the ticket! Or a competition maybe? Something that takes practice and occupies a lot of time! We’d better get started with ideas, else we’ll never make it through the noon meal, let alone Yule!”


	3. Legolas' pov

XXXX

I am relieved that my confession has been so well received for I know that I have failed to live up to what is expected of a Lord of Ithilien. Gimli is very forbearing and I am grateful indeed.

I find it quite amusing, well not quite amusing, that my dwarf has the same feelings as I do over the matter. Things must be bad indeed, if Gimli is beginning to feel concerned over how things will play out between our elves and our dwarven visitors. The problem is that we are too closely packed together even with the additional space that Gimli and his helpers have provided by the extension to the hall. How we would have coped without it; I shudder to think.

For now, I better turn my attention to ways in which we can keep everyone occupied but before that I suggest to Gimli that we retreat to our winter quarters to think things over. I am never truly comfortable in the forge and Gimli does not appear to wish to continue with whatever he was doing before I arrived, for he happily agrees to a retreat and joins me in a quick dash across the glade. I of course walk easily on top of the snow but my dwarf sinks down into it as do all mortal kind how very uncomfortable winter weather must be for them, I have only a very limited understanding of it through the sea longing and that is quite enough for me. 

By the time we reach the entrance to my rooms, we are both generously covered in fresh powdery snow for there is no cessation in the storm. The door guard spring to attention, as we approach pushing open the great wooden doors and nodding to us both. I am happy to see that they are making good use of the shelters that Gimli had added on either side of the doors earlier this year. While it is little more than a narrow, three sided box it does keep the worst of the weather off and is no doubt welcome in these conditions, which are extreme even for elves.

The two of us wend our way upwards, leaving our cloaks and boots at the bottom of the stairway. A fire is kept burning in my quarters at all times now so the room is wonderfully warm. Gimli waves at the stool that is closest to the fire and I obediently go and sit beside the fire. The heat from the flames is welcome for I feel the cold more than I ever used to do but the comfort it offers does not blind me to the fact that Gimli is also wet through and cold, what is more he has had to plough through lying snow so his feet will be chilled.

I find his leather slippers and begin to warm them as he collects towels and changes his tunic for a warm shirt and fur lined jerkin. 

“Thank ye Lamb” he says as he slips his feet into the slippers. “This cold is beginning to get into my bones.” He puts out a hand to check my hair and then hands over one of the towels. “Here dry off your hair. If ye take out the braids it will dry all the quicker. Why not pull that stool a little closer to the fire?”

“If I sit much closer I will likely set on fire!” I reply. “I am not the one who was wading knee deep through the snow.”

I think he is about to respond by pointing out he is not the one afflicted by the sea longing but he does not. He merely says that we are both cold and that the warmth is welcome.

We sit in companionable silence for a few moments, I with my back to the fire so that my hair dries swifter, Gimli staring into the flames deep in thought. I turn my own thoughts towards our current problems, running various scenarios through my head while considering how this clash of personalities would have been dealt with at home. There are several facets to the problem.

We are all too closely packed together, the weather is extreme, and our dwarven guests are bored, especially the guard who accompanied Greirr and Dravalia. If they were in Aglarond their days would be full here they are idle and idleness only leads to trouble. What they need is to be kept busy. My mind goes back to the snow, to the guards on duty and the solution is suddenly all too obvious.

“Gimli”

“Lamb”

We both speak up at once then Gimli waves me on to speak first.

I would normally preface my words with the phrase I have been thinking, but since I know that will only make my guardian smirk, I choose not to do so on this occasion. Instead I merely say,

“If Greirr is agreeable, I believe we should schedule his guards to take their turn on guard duty. It would lessen the time any of our folk would need to be outside and initially if we double up the guard, one elf one dwarf it may provide them with an opportunity to get to know each other a little better.”

Gimli nods, “Aye that is a good thought, and we can put some of them to the task of keeping the paths clea,r for while ye may dance on top of the snow, we mortal folk cannot. A few hours shoveling snow will cool their tempers a little at the very least.”

It is my turn to nod agreement, “and there is stable duty as well, for with all the additional animals there is much to be done. I suggest we speak to Saelind and Vestri and get them to put their heads together to come up with a joint roster.”

“True enough. I suspect they will relish the prospect of cooling a few of our hot heads with a spell of door ward duty. We can speak to Greirr tonight. That will certainly solve the problem of boredom, but I believe we need more.”

He lights his pipe and lets his head fall back against the rear of Mam’s chair. I have learned not to interrupt at times such as these and wait with what patience I can muster for him to tell me his thoughts.Eventually he does. 

“There is still some prejudice and downright bone headedness amongst both of our folks lad. It is unfortunate but something we canna ignore. I reckon they need to see that their lords and those in positions of responsibility have mutual respect one for the other.”

I cannot disagree with that but fail to see how we are to achieve it but fortunately, Gimli has already come up with a plan.

“How would it be if we arranged a few bouts between ourselves showcasing our particular fighting skills and invite Greirr’s folk and our own to watch? We could stage the displays in the new part of the hall. I am sure Galathil will be happy to take part, for we have been in the habit of sparring together for a while now.”

This I also know, and it is a great satisfaction to me that Gimli and Galathil have become such good friends they are evenly matched even given the disparity in body shape and height.

“Greirr and I could spar as well.” I add, but this suggestion is not met with enthusiasm. 

“I think not Lamb.”

Knowing what Gimli is thinking I scowl at him.

“I am not completely useless. I am still capable of holding my own against Greirr.” 

I say this with as much confidence as I can muster although in all honesty I am not so sure that I could beat the present lord of Aglarond. Greirr is at the height of his powers; the sea longing has left me weakened. Still I would relish the opportunity to at least try it.   
“It would not be the end of the world if I ended up on my rear end. It may serve to make an important point. At least let me attempt it, please elvellon.”

I fear he will not agree, but finally he nods.

“But on my terms Lamb. All the bouts will be timed, and I will declare when they are over. There is to be no argument.” He adds in case I try to talk him into changing his mind over it.

Too grateful to be allowed to take part in any way I agree and then add, “Perhaps Saelind and Vestri will take part as well. They are evenly matched with pikes. “

“Perhaps, and at the very least they can certainly use the show bouts to organize some shared training routines but all of this must be put before Greirr I will not go against his wishes. He is Lord of Aglarond not me.”

 

Those words still cause me a pang for it is my doing that Gimli is no longer Lord of the Glittering Caves. Seeing this Gimli pats my arm.

“I have never had cause to regret it Lamb, and I am sure Greirr will be agreeable” 

“Why do we not go and ask him now.” I eventually suggest.

“Evening meal will be soon enough” Gimli counters, “let us enjoy the warmth for a while. We could have our noon meal sent up to us for a change. I could do with a few hours away from all the bickering and complaints.”

 

This suggestion suits me for I have no desire to have to step in over any quarrels either so I agree with alacrity then seeing he is still feeling the cold; I rise to pour Gimli a mug of our home brewed ale from the jug that always stands on the side.

“Thank you Lamb,” He mutters, then goes back to staring into the fire leaving me to wonder what other things he has on his mind.

Whatever they are he does not share them with me and we do not speak of our plans again until we meet with Greirr, Thorûr, Galinn and Magen. It is a pleasant afternoon free from arguments and disputing elves and dwarves, and so we both go down to evening meal refreshed. Dravalia and Dorbryn remain in their own quarters for Kildin is still suffering from the cold that made him so restive and noisy yesterday and which caused a falling out of spectacular proportions between Handir and Mistress Lilja that Gimli regaled me with this afternoon. 

I am sorry the dwarfling is poorly but secretly I’m rather relieved that the healers have someone else to worry and fret over other than me for a change. 

Poor Galinn is still in his Ada’s bad books and sits very quietly as Gimli outlines our ideas. Of course, Magen immediately finds fault in the suggestions no doubt thinking they all came from me. However, Greirr is enthusiastic as is Thorûr and so it is agreed that we will call a meeting in the morning with Galathil, Saelind and Captain Vestri.

“It is time we gave something back to our hosts,” Greirr states firmly seeing that Magen is inclined to argue the point. “We should remember we may have found ourselves stranded out somewhere without shelter had it not been for the offer of refuge from the folk of Ithilien en-Edhil. They have been gracious enough to share their homes with us and it ill becomes us to grumble at the fact that our quarters are cramped. I for one give thanks each morning that my wife and children are safe.”

This excellent speech silences Magen at least temporarily. If I did not know Greirr so well I might even be fooled by it, save that only yesterday he almost came to blows with one of the guards who was attempting to prevent him from going outside . As it is I hide my grin behind my hand and reply gravely that He and his family are welcome guests whenever they arrive. I glare at Magen but do no add. “except for you!” even though it is on the tip of my tongue to do so.

I am glad when Galinn breaks in with a plea to be allowed to join in with the demonstration bouts. Greirr is no more likely to listen than Gimli would have been had it been me who was in disgrace but I feel some sympathy for Galinn. That is I do until he is told that he is too young.

“Legolas is going to take part and he is still a child as well!” he blurts out. 

I bristle, but a hand on my arm keeps me quiet but before Gimli can speak in my defense, I am stunned into open-mouthed silence by Magen who snaps at his grandson.

“Lord Legolas is a warrior of great renown, and deserving of your respect. He has fought for this land for longer than any of us has walked upon it and ye will do well to remember it.”

I am still reeling from this support from someone who only a few hours ago was castigating me in no uncertain manner when Greirr adds his mite to the conversation by blistering his son’s ears with a scalding lecture on his lack of manners.

Once again it is left to Gimli to smooth matters over.

“Ye have to learn to distinguish between age and experience, laddie. Ye are correct to say Legolas is still young by the lights of his own people, but ye do him an injustice to suggest he is still on a par with you. As Magen says he has seen and experienced a great deal, and his warrior credentials are second to none. But then I know ye did not mean to insult him did you? Youth sometimes makes us speak before we think things through, and I am sure Legolas would be willing to forget your hasty words would ye but ask it of him.”

My sympathies for Galinn come back full force as all his elders frown at him waiting for his apology. It is not as if I have never been accused of speaking first and thinking second. It happened only a few hours ago. Besides, I like Galinn.

“There is no need for an apology as far as I am concerned. And I would like to try my hand against Galinn if it can be arranged.”

Galinn looks hopeful but his father only says he will think on it so we have to satisfied with that at least for the present. For the more, I think about it the more I like the idea of pitting my skills against his even it has to be in a place and at a time when none of our respective elders will be around. Long have I wanted to try fighting with the long handled battle axes but Gimli has always forbidden it. I do not think I will find it hard to persuade Galinn to think otherwise. 

 

I have no opportunity to do this before the next morning when we all meet with our captains. It seems they are ahead of us in their thinking, for they already have a blue print for a shared guard roster. They have also considered the best way to cover the extra duties that our unexpected guests and their stock have brought us. The meeting goes well, mainly I believe because Master Magen has not been invited to attend. He apparently is off inspecting a shed that has been emptied to see if it can be made use of by his precious goats; if not perhaps he would like to move in there himself I could always suggest it to him! That is IF I wish to spend the Yule festivities standing up.

 

Since the hard work of planning has already been taken care of we turn our attention to more pleasant activities. Al present seem keen to take part in the sparring bouts. Galinn must have already spoken with Greirr and received a negative response for when the list is drawn up his name does not appear on it. This makes me all the more determined to find a way to try my hand against him. The lad deserves some pleasure from this visit. For now, however ,I keep quiet on my plans and listen instead to the suggestion Greirr and Thorûr put forward on behalf of Dorbryn and Dravalia who, according to Thorûr, were less than impressed by our plans for entertainment.

“Dorbryn had quite a deal to say on the matter!” Thorur chuckles, “I am surprised your ears were not burning Gimli.”

It is Gimli’s turn to laugh, “Aye, she becomes more like Mam every day. What was amiss with my dear sister this time?”

“That there was nothing festive about any of our ideas, and what about doing something everyone could enjoy.” Greirr answers for his father. “Mam reckons we should not just share our fighting skills but those more cultural ones as well, such as song, music, dance and storytelling.”

I look around the table and see the various expressions that are registered they vary from resigned to horrified but personally, I think it is an excellent idea. We are coming up to Yule and what could be more appropriate than to share the celebrations by mixing the best of both our cultures in a feast and a night of song.

“Well we must not disappoint our ladies, and we have enough folk here to get things done and to do things properly. Do ye think Dorbryn would take the lead in organizing things brother?”

Thorûr says he can think of nothing she would like more, “as long as it does not cause trouble.”

It is my turn to speak up, “I doubt that will be the case. What female, elven or dwarven can resist being given the opportunity to organize such an event? And they will have us mere males running hither and yon to ensure all goes as they intend.”

There is general laughter for this sally, and with these decisions made the group splits up, I indicate to Galinn to wait for me, telling Gimli that we will go and see how Magen is getting on with his goats.

Gimli looks at me somewhat quizzically but nods and follows the others out of the guard post and back to the main glade. Presently there is no new falling snow but the clouds are grey and full and I suspect by mid-afternoon we will be in another blizzard. 

As Gimli’s broad back disappears through the trees I turn and grin at Galinn, “Come on we had better just check on the old goats and then I have something to show you.”

Galinn grins at my description and follows me willingly enough out into the air, and along a side path to the shed where from the noise and confusion. I guess that the four legged goats have already found a new home. Magen is supervising both elves and dwarves and doing little work himself, but since I do not wish to remain long in his company I only assure myself that he is satisfied before I back off. With Galinn still in tow, I cut through to the rear of the glade where tarpaulins have been raised to cover the wagons and carts from the worst of the winter weather. Ducking underneath the nearest ones we find ourselves on a flat piece of ground, that has so far been kept clear of snow. 

“I know you were wishful to try your hand at sparring, and I thought we might use this place to pit ourselves against each other.”

His answering grin is encouraging, “You mean it Legolas? Oh thank you! Da, said I did not deserve a chance to spar after my conduct earlier and my words to you. I swear I did not mean to insult you. I was just so cross that I was to be excluded again because I was ‘too young’.” 

I roll my eyes at this complaint.

“Be grateful you are not an elf, else you would hear that excuse for all too many years to come. I still get it thrown at me when I go home to Eryn LasGalinn and Gimli is not averse to using it when it suits, so I do understand how you feel. I thought we might use axes to begin with.” I say this as insouciantly as possible as if this is nothing special, “you would be able to lay your hands on a pair of axes wouldn’t you?”

Galinn nods, “I expect so. I can borrow them from those guards who are off duty. They have special leather covers for the heads so that they can be used in practice sessions. Or I could borrow some from Da.”

I hurry to put this idea out of his head.

“No need for that, and of course if you were to ask he would wish to know why you needed them and then he would undoubtedly put a stop to our fun.” 

This last point is true of course, but it is fear of Gimli catching wind of our plans that really concerns me. He has never yet allowed me to spar with a battle-axe. Oh I know the movements from watching Gimli a and I once used it to dispatch a Warg but fighting with one to one is something I have not experienced.

Galinn, it seems, has no desire for his father to know either for he smacks his forehead with his hand and shakes his head, muttering how stupid he is for having suggested it.   
We arrange to meet back here after the noon meal, while there is still sufficient light, and go our separate ways for the time being to avoid our elders becoming suspicious.

 

We all meet up for the noon meal and by this time news of the impending sparring bouts has circulated and there is a great deal of chatter and excitement amongst the warriors. Gimli and Galathil have agreed to begin the bouts after first meal tomorrow and already I can see that there are wagers being placed as to who will come out the winner. Having seen them both spar many times, I know better than to bet on the outcome. They are evenly matched and both highly skilled in their craft. It will be interesting to watch how they get on. Obviously I would like to see Gimli prevail but I know that neither Galathil nor Gimli will give the other any quarter. They are both too competitive for that.

The news of the shared Yule feast and celebration is also greeted with enthusiasm and since both Dorbryn and Dravalia have come down to eat, leaving Kildin in the care of Mistress Lilja there are soon groups of elves and dwarves talking and planning together and it is a simple matter for Galinn and I to slip away unnoticed.

Galinn has managed to get two axes, both with their heads properly covered to prevent accidental injuries. I lift one and try and find its balance, but of course the length of the haft is too short for me and it is very heavy. I find it quite difficult to swing it as I have watched Gimli do so many times before. Galinn is anxious to begin and so I quiet the small voice in my head that is telling me that I should not be doing this. I lift my axe and take up my stance. 

Galinn rushes at me, and I have to duck and roll to avoid his attack. I come up behind him and parry his next moves using the haft as a quarterstaff. Whether it is the lack of balance or not I know that to continue with the bout would be foolish in the extreme. I call out to Galinn and step back but he does not hear me and only by dodging sideways do I avoid being hit.

“Enough” I shout, “I yield.”

“ I should never have begun the bout, “ I explain as Galinn scowls and demands to know what is amiss. “While I know about your fighting techniques I am unschooled in them and this piece of foolishness has gone on long enough.”

“That it has” A voice speaks up behind us. We whirl around and find Gimli standing hands on hip,s his expression unreadable.

We both break into a babble of explanation but he holds up his hands.

“Enough! Galinn get those axes back to their owners now and then get yourself back inside, and be grateful it was me who found ye and not your Da. Go” he adds as Galinn hesitates.

All too soon I am left in the tarpaulin-covered circle with just my irate dwarf for company and he seems to be in no mood to listen to excuses.


	4. Gimli's POV

Xxxxx

“No brother, I am sorry, but this will not do at all!”

Dorbryn stands shaking her head from side to side, both hands on her hips as she critically surveys the Ithilien En Edhil kitchens. I look around as well, and see beautiful spacious marble counters, gleaming pots, a plethora of knives of all sizes and every cooking tool imaginable. Three stovetops and five ovens line the walls and two sinks equipped with hot running water stand just across. Large canisters are filled with wheat flour, corn flour, rye flour, white sugar and brown, and the pantries are full to overflowing with foodstuffs of every sort, all freely available to my sister. I personally designed this kitchen with the input of our head cook Master Mais back when the hall was built, so I feel quite proud of the space. I cannot understand what my sister can possible have to complain about, and so I tell her.

“What do ye mean it will not do? What more could ye possible want?”

She looks at me as if I am particularly dense before gesturing toward the countertops.

“How do ye expect Dravalia and I to work here? The countertops are chin high and we need a space to work the candy. We can hardly do it on the floor!”

Even though I know it will do no good, for I have already tried it, I remind her that she does not really need to cook at all.

“We have staff to do that,” I explain once again. “I’ve told ye already ye only need to give your recipes over to Master Mais and he will be able to create the dishes for ye.”

But Dorbryn, being Lady’s Vonild’s daughter is not one to be talked into anything. She insists she must do it herself if we are to have proper dwarven holiday fare for the Yule celebrations.

“Besides, I have promised to show Master Mais how to make Mam’s fruit bread and her famous molasses taffy, and that is not something that can be done by reading a recipe. I will need to show him how it’s done, and for that to happen, we will need a place to work!”

Suggesting that she and Dravalia simply stand on step stools does not go over well either. She needs her feet solidly on the ground, it seems, to properly knead the dough and work the candy. I MUST come up with a better solution!

“AND I see crock after crock of honey, and light syrup,” she complains, “ but not one crock of dark molasses, so ye’ll have to see what ye can do about that as well, and someone needs to help us seed the raisins else we’ll never get the bread ready in time!”

In time for what I do not ask, but simply promise to do my best to fulfill her wishes and hurry out of the kitchen before Dorbryn can think of something else that I need to do. Just as I am about to close the door she calls out,

“Oh and Gimli, ye’ll have to come back and help with stretching the taffy. If we’re to make enough for everyone Dravalia and I will need to be spelled, and no on here has done it before besides you and Greirr, for ye know how Mam guarded her secret techniques!”

That is true enough, though evidently Dorbryn doesn’t mind sharing them with the elven cooks of Ithilien En Edhil. I wonder what Lady Vonild would think! Whatever the case, it is good to see Dorbryn in her element, even if it means a lot of extra work for me. 

I will have to think of how to solve the problems in the kitchen, but for now, I intend to practice some weapons drills before my bout with Galathil tomorrow morning, for I know very well he will be doing the same, and I do not wish to have a disadvantage from lack of practice!

Since our usual sparring ground is buried in snow just now, I make my way out to where we have raised tarpaulins to cover wagons and carts and protect them from the winter weather as much as possible. There should be a bit of dry ground there where I can practice. Only when I arrive it is to find it is not empty.

I hear the clash of metal against metal and enter the area just in time to see Galinn nearly crush Legolas’ skull with a leather-covered axe. I am about to order them to cease, when Legolas ends the bout on his own.

“Enough! I yield.”

“What! Why?” Galinn demands, and then whines, “What is wrong? We were only just getting started!”

Legolas goes on to explain that he is not trained in the use of a battle axe, something he would have done well to think about before challenging my grand nephew to a sparring match, for I have no doubt whose idea this was, and why he came up with it. Legolas has long wanted to try his hand at using a dwarven battle axe though it is something I have never allowed considering that it is not an appropriate weapon for someone of his size and shape. I now understand why it is so important to him and this is why I have been fashioning an axe especially to fit him, though he does not know that, of course. 

 

What he does know very well, is that I would never have approved of his sparring with a battle axe. He also knows that Greirr and every other adult dwarf here would know my feelings on the matter. He must have counted on Galinn’s desire to spar and his naivety to make it easy to talk him into procuring the axes and taking part in this clandestine sparring match, though to be fair he genuinely likes Galinn and likely felt a little sorry for all the trouble he has managed to get into since his arrival.

Whatever the case, this whole situation is certainly badly chosen for a number of reasons, all of which I intend to explain to my wayward charge very clearly and very soon.

As soon as I make myself known, both guilty parties swing around and begin feverishly attempting to explain themselves, but I am in no mood to hear excuses. Both of them knew very well that they were engaging in forbidden activities and no amount of explaining will make things right. So I simply hold up a hand to end the chatter.

 

“Enough! Galinn get those axes back to their owners now and then get yourself back inside! And be grateful it was me who found ye and not your Da. Go”

Galinn hurries to gather both axes, turning back only once to offer Legolas one distraught glance before scurrying away and then I am left alone with my wide-eyed charge who takes a step back and puts up both hands as I approach him.

“Now Elvellon…wait…I…”

I stop his slow backwards retreat by grasping him firmly by the upper arm and swinging him around sideways. I then apply half a dozen hard swats to his rear end while he attempts to dance out of the way of my falling hand. His coat and outer tunic are on the ground, having been removed for sparring, so there is very little fabric between the palm of my hand and his flesh, so I know I am delivering a convincing sting, even if it does not last long.

“Ow! Gimli, please, I can explain…”

I apply one final powerful swat and then release him, leaving him rubbing his stinging backside with both hands.

“Ye can explain it can ye? Well go on then!”

He seems stunned by this for he was clearly not expecting to have this opportunity, but when he opens his mouth to answer, nothing comes out. 

“I am listening elfling! Not as easy to explain as ye thought eh? In that case explain to me exactly why ye should not have been doing what ye were doing.”

He flushes at this, for having to list his misdeeds is not something he enjoys, but just at the moment there is very little choice. He hesitates, but when I grasp him by the arm again, that seems to work to loosen his tongue.

“Wait! I know the answer. I…um…I have not been trained to spar with a battle axe, and it does not fit me properly?”

I almost smile at his phrasing this answer as a question, but I control the urge and keep my face stern.

“Indeed! And why else?”

“You have forbidden it.”  
“Which should have been reason enough! And?”

“Greirr had probably forbidden it as well.”

“True, and it is not your place to override Galinn’s father is it? Not to mention that Greirr had his reasons for forbidding Galinn from sparring other than his annoyance at his son. Very likely Galinn has only ever sparred with his own father or his weapons master, for he is barely old enough to have been drilling with an axe for a year or less. Ye could tell by his wild swing that he has not the control to avoid injuring an opponent or himself. He could have bashed your skull in or dropped the thing on his own foot, then where would we be?”

To his credit, my lad looks quite stricken at the idea of what was meant to be fun possibly ending in disaster.

“I am sorry Gimli, I didn’t think. I only wanted to make Galinn’s visit more enjoyable for him,” he begins to explain, but when I raise an eyebrow he adds to be scrupulously honest, “Well and I wanted to try the axe…but mostly it was for Galinn.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, Gimli, I swear. It was wrong of me to drag him into my plans when I knew you and Greirr would not approve, but I honestly did want to spend time with him.”

For some reason these words give me the perfect idea for a proper penalty, and again I have to fight the desire to smile, for it will also get me out of a pinch!

I order my lad to don his discarded tunic and coat and then once again take his arm, only this time it is to lead him inside to hunt for his partner in crime. We find Galinn sitting quietly out of the way or those who are now decorating the front hall, and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. His eyes grow wide when he sees me, for no doubt he fears I intend to report him to his parents. Perhaps I should do so, but I realize the poor lad stood very little chance against Legolas’ machinations, and he has been in enough trouble as it is. Still it will not do to let him think he is entirely off the hook. I crook a finger at him and he reluctantly comes over to join us.

“I am truly sorry uncle,” he tells me, his eyes suspiciously bright. “Are you …are you planning to tell Da?”

“No doubt I should do so, for ye know very well what ye did was forbidden, youngling!”

Now his eyes are threatening to overflow, so I hurry to add,

“However, I will not as long as ye are willing to do exactly as I say without argument! And that goes for ye as well elfling!”

Both are watching me curiously, and so I hurry to explain.

“Ye are both to report to my beloved sister, for she needs a table built to her exact specifications. Working on that together should keep the pair of ye out of trouble for a few hours. After that ye may help her with whatever else is needful, and I dinna mean ye should pawn it off on anyone else, young elf, unless ye wish to settle your debt in a different manner!” And then I add that we can keep it between ourselves that this is meant to be a punishment. “It will be good for folks to see ye joining in on the more mundane aspects of preparing for Yule, and they needn’t know more than that.”

He is eager to agree, knowing that I have been very easy on his so far considering the premeditated nature of his naughtiness. I turn to my grand nephew.

“ Galinn if ye cheerfully help him with that task, then I see no reason why we need to involve your da in this situation.”

Galinn smiles to prove he can be as cheerful as I wish him to be as long as I keep his antics a secret.

“Good lad,” I praise him, “ Now then, Dorbryn is in the kitchen, or she was last I saw her. Ye may go seek her out.”

As I watch them walk away to do my bidding, I feel very satisfied with myself, for I have managed to kill two birds with one stone and I do not feel the least bit remorseful either. A few hours spent in slavery to Dorbryn is a well-deserved penalty for what they both knew was very foolish behavior, and if it happens to serve my purpose in other ways, it is just a happy bonus for me! 

I go on my way back to the raised tarpaulin to once again attempt to run a few drills with my axe, for I do not wish to be rusty and out of practice when the time comes for our first match tomorrow. If I am to open the competition, I had best put on a good demonstration at least, for even if Galathil prevails, I would hope those who have placed their coin on me will at least feel they got a good show for their money. 

For a second time today, I arrive to find the area is not empty. Evidently Galathil must have been having similar thoughts, for I find him running through some basic practice drills and I can’t help standing back to admire his skills. His weapon of choice is a broadsword that he wields so precisely that his movement looks almost like a very intricate dance. His concentration never falters, as he moves faster and faster through the drills, and even when he brings his practice session to an end, he does not relax and fall back, but stands perfectly straight for a moment pointing the sword down to the left, crosses his right arm over his chest and bows slightly to his invisible opponent. 

“Well done Captain!” I call out, causing him to turn to me and nod graciously, the smallest smile playing on his lips. 

Captain Galathil has not ever been one to show great outbursts of emotion, but over the years I have learned to read him a bit better, and I can see that he is pleased with the compliment. 

“I thank you, My Lord. I wanted first-rate match tomorrow and knew I would need to be well prepared.”

“Aye, I agree. We mustn’t let down the folk. What say we get in a few practice rounds then?”

Rather than answer, he merely takes his stance, and we begin circling one another, each of us looking for a moment to make the first move.

“Have ye placed any wagers yourself Galathil?” I ask, “I think ye may well be the front runner.”

Without taking his eyes off me for a moment he answers.

“I’ve been thinking of betting on you, Lord Gimli, and then throwing the match,” he tells me, making me snort with laughter.

“A likely story, Lad. I know ye well enough to know ye’d never throw a match for all the gold in Erebor! Ye’re far too prideful for that!”

After that we are too engaged in sparring to chat. We go on for several rounds, ending with Galathil ever so slightly in the lead, but with me feeling much more prepared for tomorrow morning’s event. I then head back to the hall to check on the progress that is being made, hoping that the bickering from earlier has come to an end.

I am pleased to see that that seems to be the case. As I wend my way back to my chambers, I am greeted by both fellow citizens of Ithilien en Edhil and by my visiting dwarven kin, all of whom seem to now be working more easily together to decorate the hall and make Yule preparations. 

Once in my chambers, I take the time to clean up and change clothes, all the while congratulating myself on handling having helped to find a way to end the bickering and also having neatly managed to avoid being trapped doing Dorbryn’s bidding all afternoon and getting buried up to my elbows in a gooey mess. As much as I enjoy eating Molasses taffy, I have never been fond of helping make the stuff that usually ends up stuck in hair, on clothing and on the floor. I am very pleased with myself for having figured out how to avoid it, so despite a few hiccups this has turned out to be a good day!

I am just deciding if I have time before the evening meal to get in a lick or two done on a hickory sled I am thinking of making for my grand nephew to use once the snow has stopped falling, but decide to draw out a design first rather than venturing back out into the cold today. I have just set down to begin the design when there is a perfunctory knock on my door, which then opens revealing my lad standing in the doorway with what if I didn’t know better looks like a small smirk on his face.

“Has Dorbryn set ye free already, Lamb? If so ye should consider yourself very fortunate, for ye have gotten off much lighter than I expected! She is generally as good as Mam was at finding folks to do her bidding, especially during Yule preparations.”

“That I have not,” he tells me. “You are right to say she has found plenty for us to do. In fact she’s only just started on the taffy.”

“Then how did ye manage to wriggle your way out of helping her?” I demand, for I know very well that my elfling has a way of charming his way out of trouble, and that females are especially susceptible to his wiles. “I thought I said ye were to help her yourself and not find someone else to take your place!”

“Indeed you did, Elvellon, and I have not forgotten nor have I done so. I am off on an errand at her bidding right now.”

“Well get on with ye then,” I wave him away with one hand. “My sister will not take kindly to any dawdling any more than Mam would have, that I can tell ye.”

“I am not dawdling,” he informs me, and rather smugly for someone who is still in disgrace it seems to me. “In fact her errand sent me here to your chambers.”

“My chambers?”

“Yes. She heard through the grapevine that you had returned to the hall and she said I was to deliver a message.”

I am beginning to get suspicious, for Legolas seems far too pleased with himself. In fact I am getting the feeling that it is all he can do to keep himself from bursting out laughing.

“Well spill it then, elfling! What is this message?”

“If I recall correctly her exact words were: ‘tell that underhanded brother of mine that he hasn’t gotten away with anything! The taffy still needs to be pulled and sending you and Galinn to help has not distracted me, nor does it relieve him of his duty!’ or something close to that anyway. She also said Galen should fetch Greirr since she knows he’s been hiding out in the cellar with Captain Saelind and a barrel of ale. Evidently only the three of us have actually seen the famous taffy pulling, so she insists that you both join us. Your sister doesn’t miss much does she?”

He is now smiling unrepentantly and his eyes are twinkling with mischief.

“That she does not!” I agree. “And ye are enjoying it entirely too much young elf!”

He only bats his eyes innocently and then shrugs.

“Whatever do you mean, Elvellon? I am only obeying your orders and availing myself to help Lady Dorbryn just as you said I must. It is not my fault that she wanted me to pass on a message.”

As much as I hate to admit it, I know when I have been defeated, so I agree to go to the kitchen, though it will not do to appear too defeated. My sister may be able to order me about, but I won’t be bested by some pointy-eared brat.

“Hmmph! Very well, then let us go, but ye’d best wipe that smirk from your face else I’ll be passing on a message ye’ll be sure to understand!”

I attempt to punctuate this threat with a smart swat to his backside, but he neatly leaps out of the way, having evidently anticipated this move. After that, even I have to laugh, albeit a bit ruefully. After all it is Yule and what is a little sticky candy between friends and family?


	5. Chapter 5

My afternoon keeps getting better and better. I do not believe that Gimli quite worked out how this punishment was going to work. Rather than scold and snap at us Dorbryn has found us things to do, to keep us out of her hair as she put it. And now I am being vastly entertained so that it is all I can do not to break out into laughter when Dorbryn slaps Gimli’s wrist for slacking off. A glower from my dwarf is sufficient to ensure that I at least try not to grin too much at least now while he is watching. I am sitting on a stool well out of the way of the marble slab where the taffy is being pulled. Galinn has been sent off to find Magen and Thorûr, but I do not think he is looking very hard for he has been gone some time. Perhaps they have broached another cask of our now famous ale and he has been tempted into trying it with his Da whatever the reason he is missing a great deal of fun here in the kitchens.

Gimli, Greirr and Dorbryn are wrapped up in white aprons with towels tied over their hair and around their beards. I have been told to keep well away, as the slab is too low for me and may cause me problems with my back. The fact that I fluttered my eyelashes and moaned a little when we carried the marble in may have helped.

Initially I wondered where we would ever find something suitable for Dorbryn and Dravalia to use but Master Mais bethought himself of the marble thralls in the bottom of the icehouse. As he said we certainly do not need to keep food cold presently so Galinn and I with a couple of the kitchen staff went off to carry one of the thralls up into the kitchens where we had already placed some bricks to form legs.   
After that we spent a great deal of time running errands until I was sent to find Gimli and Greirr to help pull the taffy. I am relegated to picking of the dried fruit for the bread, although Dorbryn says that if I do not stop ‘testing’ the fruit all we will have is bread not Mam’s famed fruit bread!

The smell of the taffy has lured quite a few stray visitors, of course seeing Gimli wrapped up like one of those ancient mummies that the Haradrim talk about is also quite a draw as is the chance of tasting the finished taffy.

The technique of pulling is quite rhythmical and I recall Mam used to sing as she worked, I begin to hum the melody and Gimli, Greirr and Dorbryn soon take up the refrain. Elves are very quick to pick up rhythms and words and soon the whole kitchen is singing along, clapping and laughing. It even draws in Galinn, Magen and Thorûr. The scene stands in sharp contrast to just a few days ago and it raises my spirits and makes me look forward to the sparring bout tomorrow even more. Although Gimli says that, he is covered in so much taffy that should Galathil come anywhere close he will stick to him like glue.

I do try not to smirk but it is hard not to, for it is rare for me to get the better of my dwarf, I know it has little to do with me. Dorbryn is the one who has instigated this particular situation. Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel a sense of satisfaction that for once I am well out of trouble while Gimli is the one in the firing line. My amusement of course costs me dearly for as the taffy pulling comes to an end and Dorbryn and Dravalia comment on how well Galinn and I have managed this afternoon and how well our voices blend together I see Gimli’s dark eyes flash.

“Aye, sister ye have the right of it.” He agrees with Dorbryn, “It is a pity that their efforts have not been more widely appreciated …” 

Gimli allows this suggestion to hang while he waits for his sister to come up with her own conclusions. He does not have to wait very long 

“Indeed brother that is very true …” she turns to Galinn and me. “I think it would be a fine thing if the pair of ye did a duet at the Yule feast.”

She must see our dismay for she adds “and such a positive thing for helping with bringing our two peoples together which is what we are all working towards is it not?”

What is there to say to that? I cast a glance in Gimli’s direction and he is wearing a very satisfied grin what answer can I give other than to agree with her and my guardian knows it very well.

“It is Galinn who attempts to come to our rescue by asking what we could possibly sing, “it will not do to sing a dwarven song” 

“And for the same reasons” I pipe up, “We cannot sing something elven.”

Dorbryn and Dravalia look crestfallen but Gimli merely nods, 

“Aye true enough, but I have the perfect song for ye both, do ye not recall the song Gloin composed for us both the one that spoke of both our folks striving together to defeat Sauron in the north. It will be a good reminder of how we have worked together in the past to the betterment of both of our peoples.” 

And after that of course what else can I say but that it is indeed an excellent plan? I know when I have been beaten, although I do wish Gimli would stop smirking at me! It is going to be a very long evening I fear.

My indignation is soothed somewhat the next morning when I take up my position with just about everyone else in our crowded colony on the benches that have been set out in the halls new extension. For a mercy, it is not actually snowing although the sky is full of threatening cloud and it is bitterly cold but we are well wrapped up. We are all here to watch the bout between Galathil and Gimli and despite the chill, no one is complaining. There is a definite sense of anticipation as our two champions enter the marked ring and bow to each other.

Master Magen and Master Sylvir have been chosen to act as referees. I argued over this but Gimli said they would be perfect since both would be determined to be scrupulously fair so that the other would not have cause to complain. 

Now they call the principles together and explain that if there is no clear winner within the allotted time then the bout will be declared a draw and if either opponent steps or is thrown out of the circle then the bout will be ended.

With the rules decided upon Gimli and Galathil lift, their chosen weapons acknowledge each other and then the referees. They take up their stances and Magen rings a bell to signal the start of the fight.

Of course, I have seen them spar with each other on many occasions but even I would not like to anticipate the outcome, as they are both proud of their prowess in battle. They circle each other warily each looking for an opening. Whereas there was much shouting and cheering as we waited now everyone has fallen silent. The only sound is the sharp breathing of the two combatants and the clash of steel on steel as axe and sword meet and touch.

Galathil is the faster. He has a longer reach, but Gimli has strength and guile and when he plants his feet they hold as surely as the stone from which he and his folk came.  
He dodges under Galathil’s arm and almost succeeds in touching his axe to my guard captain’s chest, which would end the bout, but Galathil leaps high in the air, using Gimli’s shoulders to vault over him and come up on his other side. Gimli swivels on the spot and I can see he is laughing, then they close together once again.

Rolling, twisting, and spinning, axe and sword flashing they are putting on a great show for everyone and truly testing the other’s skill. Galathil almost steps out of the circle in his attempt to avoid being hit but just manages to keep his balance. 

Gimli wields his axe with consummate skill the head gleaming even in the dim light of this winter morning, for both combatants have chosen not to protect their weapons, for they trust each other completely.

There is some risk of injury of course for accidents can happen but it does not seem likely with their level of skill and their care for the other opponent. Their bout is more than just a show of course, but neither would deliberately throw the fight It is a pleasure to watch them and to watch the faces of those who are watching. There is admiration some surprise and a growing rapport between our visitors and the folk of Ithilien en Edhil as they see how two great warriors from vastly different backgrounds and races can come together to produce such a marvelous display of skill and respect. 

All too soon, Master Magen and Master Sylvir are standing up and bringing the fight to an end declaring it to be a tie. There is much cheering and laughter while Gimli and Galathil take each other’s arms in a warrior clasp. 

“That was an excellent bout Lord Gimli,” Galathil says as he sheaves his sword. “I was hard pressed.”

“As was I Galathil. Ye will have to teach me that little maneuver of yours sometime.”

“I will be pleased to do so Lord Gimli but for now how about we share a tankard of ale I for one am thirsty.” 

I watch as they go off together followed by both of our folk. The atmosphere is so different now, and I am beginning to think that our Yule celebrations will go well after all.


	6. Gimli's POV

The days of Yule have gone much better than I ever would have dreamed when our unexpected company first arrived. Once my lad and I made up our minds to step in and provide something for everyone to get involved in it took very little coaxing to change the atmosphere between our folk. Dorbryn’s cooking has become quite popular indeed so that I expect taffy pulling may be a regular part of the holiday festivities from now on here in Ithilien en Edhil. How Mam would feel about her secret techniques being revealed I do not know, though I suppose it is not every dwarven matron who becomes a famous confectionary in an elven land, so no doubt that would make up for the loss of her secret. Mam’s fruit bread has been popular as well, and when folks are happy with their victuals, it seems to lighten everyone’s mood.

The hall has been decorated to the nth degree with in the traditional elven silver ribbons, holly, fir and pinecones intermingled with the dwarven red paper lanterns to replace the usual glass ones and big swags of gold ribbon so the whole place seems to be exploding in a riot of colors.

The sparring bouts have been well attended and enjoyed even by the ladies in spite of Dorbryn’s objection that such things were geared more toward males. In fact she was there herself to cheer Legolas on when it came time for him to challenge Greirr, something Greirr strongly objected to considering that she is his own mother! But Legolas had been cooperation itself when it came to helping with the candy making, she explained, while Greirr had done his best to hide away drinking ale to avoid helping, so she had not the slightest qualm about her choice and was perfectly pleased to explain her reasoning to anyone who asked!

Dorbryn did get her wish, for to my great delight my elfling managed to prevail, though it was just in the last second before time was called and it might have had something to do with the fact that my sister spent the whole bout heckling her son to distract him. Certainly Greirr claimed that was the reason, though I couldn’t help reminding him that a good warrior keeps his focus. Of course it was all in fun and everything was forgiven completely when my lad handed over his prize to Dorbryn, making her flush as he kissed her on the cheek, much to the crowd’s delight. 

The rest of the bouts were entertaining as well, with Captain Vestri besting Captain Saelind in a very close match, and Master Silvyr beating Master Magen, which surprisingly caused old Magen to laugh for the first time since his arrival and heartily congratulate our stable master. I am yet unsure if Master Silvyr actually enjoyed the ale that Master Magen insisted they share afterwards, but he was gracious enough to drink it anyway, and has since made certain the Angora goats are brushed until their silken coats gleam with his attention.

So there has been a general feeling of good will over the last few days, and tomorrow will be our Yule’s eve feast. Normally Yule morning is for spending with close family and exchanging gifts, and that will be the case this year as well, but today I wish to spend just a few hours alone with my lad, for I have finally finished my gift for him, and I have an idea. It is already wrapped and waiting in his chambers, though I have made him swear on his honor not to touch it until I am there to hand it to him officially. I placed it there this morning before break of fast and made plans to meet my lad here for the noon meal so we can share this little time alone and exchange gifts between us.

I find him already waiting for me in his quarters and true to his word, he has hands clasped firmly behind his back so as not to be tempted to touch. However that does not prevent him from walking around the dresser where it is placed and scrutinizing it from all possible angles. As I watch from the doorway, he unclasps his hands and brings them forward, only he keeps them balled in fists, and it is easy to see his struggle. I have to struggle myself to keep from laughing for once or twice he opens his hands and reaches forward, but pulls them back just before I decide to interrupt him. The poor lad has ever found it nearly impossible to wait until the proper time to peek at Yule gifts, which of course I knew when I brought the gift into his chambers in the first place! It is all a part of the fun for both of us. After nearly touching several times, he evidently makes a decision and picks up a long handled hairbrush that is lying on his dresser and slowly reaches out with it toward the wrapped gift.

“Ahem!” I clear my throat loudly causing him to swing around startled, hairbrush still in hand.

“Gimli! I…I …was just…”

I interrupt him by merely holding out a hand, which he looks at for several seconds before it dawns on him what I wish him to do. Then he swallows hard and gingerly lays the brush in my open palm, which I close firmly about the handle before bringing it down with a loud snap in my other hand.

“And what exactly did ye think ye were doing, elfling? Did I not tell ye not to touch without my consent?”

“I wasn’t about to touch it,” he virtuously begins to explain. “I was only going to poke at it. Just a little.”

In spite of myself, I feel my lip begin to twitch, and even more so as his eyes grow as wide as saucers and he gives me his best little elfling in the world expression. 

“Just a little eh?”

“The merest, tiniest tap.”

“I see!” I toss the brush down on the dresser and take him firmly by the hand . “In that case we’d best get ye well away from temptation, for once ye begin taking that step toward naughtiness it is difficult to stop, is it not? If ye are not careful ye’re going to end up in more trouble than ye’ll want to deal with.”

I pull him across the room to where a small table has been set with a pot of tea and a light meal of oyster stew, for we will be feasting later tonight.

“We will eat first!” I insist before he is able to attempt to sweet talk me into exchanging gifts right away. Legolas, who normally eats like a bird these days, wolfs his food in no time flat while I take my sweet time over the broth, making a great show of pouring a second and even a third cup of tea and then settling back into my chair by the fire and take out my pipe, but my lad is at the end of his tether it seems.

“Gimli!” he gives an exasperated whine as he yanks at my hand. “Now you are just being cruel. I’ve been waiting all day! It’s killing me!”

“It is only noon lamb,” I point out. “I dinna think ye are in any danger of actually dying of curiosity.”

“You cannot be sure of that Elvellon,” he insists, “The sea longing has taken its toll so I am in a weakened state, you know. How will you feel if you put me right over the edge with your hard heartedness? Here you first!”

He thrusts a neatly wrapped gift into my hands and then impatiently waves for me to hurry and open it. I cannot help throwing my head back and laughing.

“Oh very well then. I willna be held responsible for your demise. Now what can this be?”

I turn the small flat package around and around in my hands, then hold it up to my ear and shake it gently, but he is having none of it and actually attempts to tear the wrapping away himself. I slap his hand away, but decide that I had best get on with it, for if anyone could die of impatience it would be my lad.

I remove the wrapping to reveal inside a beautifully carved frame, a wonderfully detailed charcoal sketch of Lady Vonild and Lord Gloin looking just as they did just after I returned from the war. Unexpected tears spring to my eyes, for it is such a thoughtful gift.

“It is amazing, lamb. Why it has been over a hundred years! How can you possibly remember such incredible details from so long ago?”

I am thoroughly stunned at his talent, but he only smiles and shrugs as if it is nothing.

“It’s not so hard,” he tells me. “Now my turn!”

“All right, but sit ye down and let me hand it to ye,” I instruct, rising from my chair. “ye’d do well to cultivate a little patience, boy, though I suppose that is too much to expect from a flighty young elfling such as yourself.”

I am trying to ruffle feathers of course, but he only smirks at this attempt at an affront.

“I know you are trying to rile me, Elvellon, but it will never work. You may as well just hand it over without the song and dance!”

He sits cross-legged on a fur rug on the floor, wriggling a bit as if attempting to get perfectly comfortable while I cross over to the dresser to retrieve the gift. I place it in his waiting hands and then place a kiss on his warm hair that smells faintly of peppermint soap. 

“I am sorry that this is so late in coming,” I tell him, “I should have given it to you years ago. It was wrong of me to withhold teaching you, for you are as true and loyal a son as any dwarf could ask for. I was worried for your safety, but that is no excuse and all I can say is better late than never.”

He seems baffled by this speech, but only for a moment for when he tears off the wrapping he understands immediately. His eyes grow round with surprise and delight.

“You mustn’t apologize, Gimli. There is no need at all,” he exclaims as he examines the axe that is custom made for an adopted elven son. “And of course it is not too late. It is never too late is it?”

“It is never too late,” I agree, opening my arms when he abandons the axe and leaps to his feet to embrace me. I hold him close for a moment or two before adding, “and it is never too early to get started with your training either, my lad. I think we might not be missed too much if we go out now for a couple of hours. What say you?”

The next two hours are among the most enjoyable I’ve spent since my arrival here in Ithilien En Edhil, for it is a pure pleasure to work on weapons training with my lad.

He, of course, has been very well trained in the use of weapons by others who came before me, but over the years I have frequently supervised Legolas’ drills at his request and out of my own concern. He trusts me completely to be honest in my evaluation of what he is doing well or what needs to be improved. Besides that, I know him well enough to know when he is reaching a wall and would be better to rest for a while, or when he should just power through. These things combined mean I am a good choice to supervise his practice sessions, and so I have done when we are together since we moved south. 

I have also taken part in training young dwarves in the use of a dwarven war axe, most notably my own nephew. Along with Thorûr and Captain Vestri, I have drilled and trained Greirr to the point that he is a formidable fighter, even though he has far less practical experience than I do, thank Mahal. 

But what I have never done until today is have the chance to actually train my heart son in the use of a weapon, and it is the greatest pleasure to do so now. He has never wielded an axe, other than his illicit bout with Galen, but he is coordinated and athletic, not to mention ambidextrous, besides already being second to none in the use of other forms of hand to hand fighting. He has also watched me fight and spar many times so this means that he picks things up very quickly and before long we are able to spar together using a few basic moves. I can see by the way his eyes light up that he is enjoying it as much as I am.

The afternoon passes quickly and I end up calling a halt before either of us are ready to end the session, for I recall that my elfling no longer has endless energy and tonight will be a very late night considering the coming Yule celebration. I can see he is a little frustrated with me.

“Just a few minutes more,” he pleads, “it is going so well, and I am perfectly fine!”

“I never said ye weren’t perfectly fine,” I reply, “but it is going a little too well for my taste. I can’t have ye learning to best me on the first day now can I? Very well done, laddie, but it is time to end for now.”

He rolls his eyes, no doubt guessing my real concerns, but he doesn’t argue again and we make our way back to his chambers where the new axe is carefully wiped down and put away. It will need to be placed in the armoury eventually, but for now it is place back on his dresser where I left it earlier wrapped for Yule.

“We have a little time before the festivities and it is going to be a late night tonight. Why don’t we clean up and then rest a bit before it is time to dress for the evening?”

I make the suggestion lightly as if I am just seeking his opinion on the matter, for I know implying that I think he needs to nap in the afternoon is likely to ruffle feathers, and sure enough his brows knit together and he offers me a suspicious glance.

“We?” he asks skeptically. “Are we both going to ‘rest’ Elvellon?”

Of course that is not what I meant, but there is no need to let him know that so I answer evenly,

“I’ll have ye know I was up before dawn and I have been sparring for two hours, laddie, not to mention the fact that I am not as young as I once one. I am going back to my chambers to bathe and to fetch a book that Dorbryn brought me, one that she wrote herself of her memories of Lord Gloin’s tales that he used to like to spin. I’d like to read a few of them to ye if ye don’t mind too much. Be a good lad and humor an old dwarf hmm?”

After that he just laughs and gives in gracefully enough, even though I am sure he isn’t fooled by my story. We spend a couple of quiet hours together with me reading to him and him pretending to listen while actually dozing in front of the fire. 

Soon enough I wake him to dress for the festivities while I go and prepare as well, for we must look our best for our folk. We have worked as much pageantry as possible into the welcoming ceremonies for we want to make an impressive show for everyone, and there is a great deal of appreciative cheering when we make the opening speeches.

After that massive amounts of holiday food are served along with good wine and our own ale. There are musicians, from both of our folks, playing lively music, which inspires a lot of dancing and singing. My kin are surprised at how well the elves here perform some of our traditional dances, not realizing that they have practiced back when Legolas held a feast to welcome me to Ithilien En Edhil, and many of the visiting dwarves, my nephew in particular, sing surprisingly well in Sindarin. As a child Greirr was bright and inquisitive and was constantly badgering Legolas to teach him Sindarin words, mainly so he could say things his elders might not approve of if they could understand him! Swear words were his favorites, but he also learned many songs and poems so that now he is fairly fluent. He has taught Galen a bit as well it seems, for he has no trouble with the traditional elven songs, and of course by now I have become a fluent speaker having spent months at a time here among elves. 

My lad can speak only a smattering of Khuzdul from my teaching him for it is not as openly spoken in public. Mam also coached him in a few phrases and songs for special occasions or to surprise me, but other than that he has not been much exposed to it even in Aglarond for most folks are still very secretive our language, in spite of my encouraging a little more openness. For the same reason, none of the songs tonight are performed in Khuzdul though many of our song have a version in Westron, and those are shared freely. 

Though I suggested it on a lark just to discomfit them, the duet by Legolas and Galen is a highlight of the evening and very well received by all. As Dorbryn observed earlier their voices do blend well, and I see my sister furtively wipe her eyes as the last notes of Da’s song fade away. 

As usual things get livelier in direct proportion to how much wine and ale has disappeared, though I pace myself this time, drinking only one tankard with dinner and switching to innocuous drinks after that. I indicate with a meaningful look that Legolas should do the same, which he does with only the slightest rolling of eyes. No doubt he thinks I am being overly cautious because of concerns over his health, which is only partly true. The main reason is that we have too many folks in a crowded area and someone has to keep a level head. We mustn’t be too intoxicated to respond if something goes wrong and a fight or argument breaks out. Besides I have a plan, and I need both of us to be perfectly sober for it to work.

I whisper instructions to Galathil and then briefly slip back up to our chambers to collect what I need. I find it and return to find that Galathil has cleared what has now become a dance floor. When he sees me he calls for silence and then makes an announcement.

“I have just learned that we are to have one final sparring match, “ he tells the crowd and a great cheer goes up, though I suspect folks would cheer at anything at this point!

Legolas give me a puzzled look, for this was not in our plan, but rather than answer him I just step into the middle of the floor. Galathil steps forward and removes my full length formal cloak, revealing the weapons in my hand; a pair of long handled knives and the axe I gifted to my lad earlier this afternoon. 

I hold both aloft causing another thundering cheer, and then I nod toward my lad who is looking totally bewildered by now.

“Well, laddie, shall we?” I ask, as the crowd propels Legolas forward. Smiling now, he eagerly tosses his formal robes aside so that he is clad in black velvet leggings and a form fitting silver silk shirt. He steps into the center of the floor next to me and bows slightly in acceptance of my challenge.

The crowd cheers in appreciation but then gasps as one when I hand Legolas the long handled axe in my right hand rather than the pair of knives in my left! I take in the expressions of individuals in the audience and they vary from flabbergasted to amused, but only Master Magen frowns in what might be disapproval. 

I spin the knives in my hands and bow to my opponent and then we take up our stances. I have fought and practiced with knives though it is not my weapon of choice, and my skill level is far below that of my elfling. Still I hold my own pretty well as we become seriously engaged. 

Of course it is not a true competitive sparring session. My lad only learned a few moves with the axe this afternoon, and knives are hardly my weapon of choice. Our match is more a demonstration of the fact that we do have the ability to be flexible and learn from one another and that our folk can be in unity with one another. Still my heart swells at pride at how eager and earnest my elfling is, and how much he has accomplished in such a short while. 

Our match is not terribly complicated, nor does it highlight great feats of skill, but it is fast paced and loud and the folks watching seem to find it entertaining, so it serves it’s purpose. Rather than continuing to the end of the round, I call for Legolas to stand down and then turn to the crowd.

“Shall we call it a tie?” I ask and everyone claps in agreement and approval, except my sister that is.

“Either that or take it outside!” Dorbryn scolds. “Who ever heard of sparring in the house. I swear males have no sense!”

This causes the crowd to laugh and then Legolas signals the musicians to continue playing and everyone returns to their merrymaking. It is an amazing sight, nothing short of a miracle when I think of the first days after our guests arrived. Now Elves and dwarves are dancing, singing, laughing and talking together as if they’ve never had a harsh word pass between them. 

As I look out over the crowd I cannot help feeling proud of what we’ve accomplished, not only in the last few days, but over the last one hundred years or so. When I glance at Legolas he is also watching the crowd and I can see he is feeling the same by his satisfied expression. He must feel me watching him, for he glances my way and offers me a bright smile before leaning to kiss my cheek. 

“We did it, Elvellon!”

“Aye that we did,” I agree, picking up a couple of tankards of ale from a passing server and then handing him one of them. Lifting it, I say, “Well done, lamb and happy Yule.”


End file.
